


Another time

by tatch



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 76 did not come here to fall in love all over again, Alcohol, Bad Decisions, Drunken Flirting, Falling In Love, Gabe is falling fast and hard, It's happening anyway, Jack has no idea of what's going on, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reaper76 Reverse Bang, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Reyes76, Second Chances, Secret Identity, Time Travel, too bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-04 18:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12776778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatch/pseuds/tatch
Summary: Gabriel's relationship with Jack is filled with bitterness and resentment.Somehow, somewhen, they drifted away from each other.That's when Gabriel meets someone new.And everything changes.





	Another time

**Author's Note:**

> I had the pleasure of being paired with the wonderful Tomoyo (again XD) for the Reaper76 Reverse Big Bang :D
> 
> She did [some amazing art](https://tomodraws.tumblr.com/post/167940796156/and-here-is-my-piece-for-the-r76-reverse-bang-i) (that you should absolutely check out) based on which I wrote this story  
> I have so much to say about these two :3
> 
> I hope you guys have as much fun reading this story as I have had writing it o/
> 
> (First part is two chapters long, then i will take a short break to try and get a new chapter of Trinity up around Chrismas  
> This story will return after that :D Be patient)

The landing is … uneventful.

Kind of anti-climatic.

 

One second he’s there, the next he’s here.

He barely had the time to blink.

 

After the long talk about not moving during the transfer,

_’I insist, it’s extremely important that you do not move during the trip, you could lose limbs … or worse.’_

he’s almost disappointed it went so fast.

 

He checks himself for missing parts.

Arms, legs, everything seems to be in order.

It’s a relief, especially considering how uncertain the scientist had been concerning the safety of his trip.

His bags are there too. He checks their content rapidly but everything seems to be there.

 

Okay then.

 

Time to get to work.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel wakes up with a dry mouth and a pounding headache.

He groans.

 

Too much light. There’s way too much light.

He rolls to his side, buries his head under the pillow.

 

Why is he awake this early… or this late. With the hours he keeps (and between the insomnia and the nightmares), he’s usually up long before the sun can start lazily rising over the horizon, or late enough that it no longer shines directly into his quarters. What the hell.

 

He tries to remember what happened earlier. Or the night before.

But all he gets is the haze he has come to associate with alcohol (too much alcohol), neon lights in a dark place and a … red glint?

Ugh.

What?

Fuck.

 

He needs to get some water in him. And to take a shower. He sniffs the air and feels his stomach recoil at the scent that emanates from his skin. He definitely needs a shower.

Fifteen minutes and a shower later, Gabriel feels more human and less like roadside trash. He still stinks though. Or maybe that’s just his mouth. If he got drunk enough to puke- Toothbrush.

 

As he brushes his teeth, his memories of the previous night sluggishly come back to him.

 

He had gotten into another argument with Jack. Nothing personal, all work related. But these days, that’s the only time they ever talked or spent time together. Pissed at Jack treating him the way he had (he can barely remember what had set him off exactly, just knows that he’d seen red at some point), Gabriel had booked it and had gone to Zurich, intent on drinking himself into blissful oblivion.

The bar he’d found first had been quiet but it had rapidly gone from quiet to too quiet and his thoughts had spiraled on him like sharks, ready to devour him from within. Noise. He’d needed noise. The club’s heavy basses had drawn him in like a beacon. He’d found his way inside like the shadow his job demanded him to be on an everyday basis, unseen and quiet.

A contrast of dark corners and neon lights, the club was nothing special. Loud music, people dancing with abandon on the dance-floor, couples getting physical here and there, a scent of sweat and piss that perfume diffusers were trying to cover. The rhythm of the crowd, the basses. It had been mind-numbing.

Alcohol had flowed, he remembers that much. What he doesn't remember, is how he'd gone from wanting to forget to deciding to hurt Jack. By fucking some stranger he would pick up in this very club. Gabriel can tell from his fragmented memories that it had not been a quick process, but raking his brain for details only brings back the image of countless drinks and empty glasses, and a sense of dark churning anger.

 

The metal sink groans under his tight grip. Shit. Had he slept with anyone? Had he actually stooped so low as to cheat on Jack, regardless of the state of their relationship? He woke up alone but ... that doesn't mean whoever he may have slept with didn't leave before he woke, or that he had not gone somewhere and gotten laid before returning and crashing in his own bed.

 

Fuck.

 

If only his brain would cooperate. He rubs his temples, but nothing else comes to mind, except for that red glint. Red? The club had been of shades of blue, purple and green, with black light neons in some places, so where the hell had he seen red? Maybe it had to do with something else entirely?

His stomach rumbles greedily. Okay, food first. He spits and rinses his mouth, gets dressed, giving the room a frown as he tries to see whether there's a trace of someone other than him coming here.

Not that he can see but ...

Enough.

Food, then he can try to retrace his steps back to his bed, even if that means unauthorized access to security cameras and things of the like. Whatever. Nothing he hasn't done already.

 

Jesse greets him with raised brows. What? Does he know something? The cowboy wannabe, that may not be his second officially but is considered as such by pretty much everyone, including Gabriel himself, saunters his way.

"You're up early, boss. Or is it late?"

 

Oh.

Yeah, right.

 

Gabriel grumbles an answer as he grabs something to eat. He's feeling both hungry and queasy, which is never a good mix. Jesse on his heels, he sits in the corner of the room that is unofficially Blackwatch's. Unofficially only because Blackwatch doesn't have a legal existence. Surrounded by his agents, his people, some of Gabriel's tension eases away.

 

"I would have guessed late, but with what you picked and the glare you're throwing around, Imma say early instead." Said glare is turned to Jesse for a minute before looking over to the Overwatch's tables, and more precisely, to the mop of blond hair Gabriel can see by the officers table. And maybe he should be sitting there, with them, but Gabriel was never one to put any distance between his men and himself.

It's only a second or two before Jack's eyes meet his. They had been trained to know when they were watched, human or omnic, and the Crisis had only worked to carve that instinct deep into their bones. Jack raises a brow, looking surprised to see him. It isn't long however before Jack turns away, busy as he is. He didn't seem angry or disgusted or disappointed. Just surprised and distant. But then again, they fought the day before, so he probably expects Gabriel to be pissed at him for a bit. Which, well, he is, even though he's more worried about discovering what happened during his night out.

 

Whatever did (or did not) happen, Jack doesn't seem to know anything about it. Jesse has launched into a surprisingly light tale of how he charmed Captain Amari into giving him a sniping lesson. Gabriel snickers internally. The kid's crush is adorable and harmless enough that Ana is letting Jesse try his best. She probably enjoys the attention, which is not much a surprise, considering what happened with Fareeha's father.

It almost seems like a normal morning. It is a normal morning, for everyone but Gabriel. He sighs, his gaze going to one of the high window, mostly tuning Jesse out as he lets himself relax.

 

Of course, that's when the memory decides to hit.

 

_A broad shoulder under his head._

_A rumbling laugh, more vibration than sound._

_A red jacket, with something that looks like a grinning skull on it._

_Hair shining an unnatural blue-ish white, the light making it look like a halo._

_Lips with a scar on one side, and a parallel twin scar on the other cheek._

_Red glasses, shimmering and glinting in the ever changing light, covering the stranger's eyes entirely._

 

Gabriel chokes on the mouthful he was about to swallow. Jesse gives him a concerned look and taps him on the back, helping dislodging the bit that took the wrong exit on its way to his stomach. He coughs a couple times.

 

"You okay, boss?"

"Yeah." He replies hoarsely between two coughs. "Bagel tried to make a run for my lungs, 's all."

The joke dissipates whatever concern Jesse might have had and the kid laughs. Gabriel makes a few appropriately disgruntled sounding grunts at the comments and jokes Jesse adds to his own, but his thoughts are racing.

 

Not here.

Not now.

He needs space. He needs to be alone.

 

Breakfast thankfully ends shortly after that, the remaining time punctuated by the nasty glares Gabriel throws at whoever tries to approach their table, and the easy running comment, almost a monologue really, that Jesse keeps up. Is the kid always that chatty in the morning? Geez.

 

They part ways and Gabriel heads to his office, locking the door behind himself before he goes to the window that occupies most of the exterior wall. It's bulletproof, like all the windows that open to the outside, which was one of the reasons why he didn't pick an underground room as his 'office'. Unofficial, again.

The room, and the small kitchenette attached to it are not listed as an office, but as living quarters in official papers and in the building blueprints. As are most, if not all, of the rooms his agents and himself, Blackwatch in itself uses. As annoying as it some days gets, it has kept Blackwatch hidden from the public eye (and the UN Council's) so far.

It's not a big room but it's remote from the bustling and noise of the main sections of the Watchpoint. And the view. The view is magnificent. He's not on the top floor, but just one below that, and his big ass window is on the side of the base that does not face the city, but the mountains instead. This landscape, wild and wide and void of any trace of anything human or Omnic, is something he never grows tired of seeing.

 

But none of that registers, really, as Gabriel flops in his seat with a sigh.

 

He had found someone. Drunk and hurt and looking for some sort of petty revenge, Gabriel had set his sight on a stranger sitting halfway across the club, sipping a drink under black light neons. He honestly can't tell whether his drunken self had been attracted by the broad back that was barely hidden by the red (crimson?) jacket, the jacket itself with its badass somewhat creepy skull, the hair and how pretty and fluffy it looked under that peculiar lighting or the red glint of the glasses he had been able to catch a glimpse of whenever the man turned his head left or right. He had not even seen the stranger's face when he'd picked him, for fuck's sake. He had not even cared, anger and a low simmering lust clouding whatever judgement he might have had left by then.

With the laser focus he would normally save for ops, he had then gotten himself another drink and had flopped part next to the man, part in his lap.

 

Gabriel buries his head in his hands, embarrassment tinting his cheeks. He groans. It's not his type to think of 'what will people think' and such, but fuck, how come the stranger had not punched him in the face.

 

Because the stranger had not. He'd seemed surprised, but when Gabriel's hands had started roaming, groping here and there (jesus fucking christ) he had simply moved them away from his bits and settled them back onto his shoulders or hips. Multiple times. He had never pushed him away, listening instead to the lame rambling Gabriel could vaguely remember uttering.

At some point, Gabriel had felt tired, so tired and the man had let him rest his head, no, his whole body against his own. He couldn't remember much of what the stranger had said, but his voice was a low soothing rumble whenever he had talked. Not that he had talked much. Gabriel had hogged most of the space, physically and metaphorically, between them. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he remembered waking up to a start, being asked if he would be okay, grunting an agreement, his mind clearer (but nowhere near clear enough) and the stranger had left.

A clearer mind meant that he had been able to conjure enough brain power to get up and try to follow the man, because hell he had decided to get laid. With that one man. Who was currently leaving. So he'd followed, managed to keep up until the man had turned a corner. And vanished. His drunken self had been puzzled and tired and fuck if his 'target' had decided he was too good for him, he might as well return home and sulk. So he'd given up and headed back, mumbling half-coherent curses under his breath.

 

Gabriel groans in relief.

 

_He had given up and headed back._

 

He had _not_ fucked someone while drunk.

 

He had not cheated on Jack.

 

All of it because the guy he had picked had not taken advantage of his state. Thank fuck. Well. Thank him, whoever he was. He should find him and thank him, really. It will be awkward as hell but- the man deserves his thank. And an apology for his behavior. Yeah, it's going to be awkward.

Relieved, Gabriel passes a hand down his face and refocuses his mind onto actual work. He can have a look at security feeds and try to find the stranger with red glasses later.

 

Blackwatch won't run itself.

 

* * *

 

Finding the stranger proves to be much more frustrating and difficult than Gabriel had anticipated.

 

The coffee-shop being the last thing he remembers clearly, he spends about an hour retracing his own footsteps. Who could have guessed there were so many clubs in that area. He has to hack into more than one to find the one he's been looking for. He remembers the bar, with multicolored circles glowing over it. It probably makes it easier to find for drunken clients, which is definitely the whole point.

 

Without the darkness, the spotlights and the neons, the place looks almost ... normal. Bare, a bit dusty, with seats here and there, it's a big room with a mezzanine (the VIP lounge, he guesses) covered in a mix of grey carpets and brownish linoleum.

Sure, he easily gets into the club's security, easily finds the previous night recordings, and after a solid minute of watching himself nuzzle the man's throat (and feeling his embarrassment burn his cheeks once more,) Gabriel fast forwards until he reaches the part where the stranger had left.

 

He follows the man as he walks through the crowd and reaches the exit. He seems to be alone. Gabriel is distantly aware of his own pathetic past ass trying to catch up. The stranger doesn't seem to notice, though. He zips his jacket up, pushes his (gloved, that's interesting) hands in his pockets and heads for the alley that faces the club's exit.

Now that he's got an exact time and place, Gabriel can leave the club's security feed and go to the city's surveillance system. He enters the data and gets the same scene, but from a different point of view. The man loses his tail (Gabriel) within the next two streets (how pathetic is that) and seems to be headed somewhere specific. But before Gabriel can find what or where that somewhere is, the stranger disappears. One second he's on one camera, turns and should appear on the next feed.

 

Except he doesn't.

 

Gabriel frowns and checks the closest cameras (there are two) besides that one.

Nothing.

The man just ... vanished.

He waits a bit, just in case his 'mark' had just stopped somewhere between the two cameras, to tie his laces or check his phone or something. But no such luck. No-one, nothing passes in that street for the next four hours and a few, and the thing that does pass in it then is a couple of cats chasing each other.

 

Great.

There goes his easy to find and give apology.

Shit.

 

Gabriel can't start searching all over the city security feeds, it wouldn't go unnoticed. And people asking questions is not something he, or Blackwatch, needs. He sighs. He can however, run a general gait (he can't do a facial one, because of the glasses) recognition on city surveillance feeds. It's a generic automated procedure and no-one will say anything.

 

It's going to take a while though.

Fucking great.

 

* * *

 

It's seventeen days until he gets a result.

 

The message pops up and, frankly, Gabriel had forgotten all about it. He had been so busy. Between running background checks on the new batch of agents he recruited two weeks ago and the intensive training that had followed, keeping an eye on the rising tensions between humans and omnics in the United Kingdom, Russia and Australia, and checking whether the rumors of Sojiro Shimada's death were founded, it was no surprise that his little 'side project' had slipped his mind. He probably should send an agent to Japan to make sure, since the rumors contradicted one another, but there have been growing tensions amongst the many clans forming the Shimada criminal empire. Too many chances of whomever he'd send being discovered. It will have to wait. 

He opens the file.

Right.

The man with the red glasses.

Him drunk and all over the guy's lap.

His stubborn decision to find the man and roll an apology and a thanks his way.

 

The gait recognition algorithm found a match. About fucking time.

But it ... dates back to February. What.

Gabriel grumbles a curse under his breath. He glares at the screen for a moment. The closest date it found was February? But that was two months ago. Nearly three now, with the added delay it took to get the match.

 

He tugs his beanie off and ruffles the short curls underneath. At least he found something. Yeah, right. Not like it will help him find the guy. Shit.

 

He plays the file anyway, checking the details rapidly while he's at it.

The feed is from Zurich's Airport. It's definitely the club's stranger, despite the indigo glasses and generic brown leather jacket. He's tall, somewhere around six feet, his back unbowed, posture a mix of relaxed and assured. His hair is white, skin pale. He's not wearing gloves there, at least not until he gets his bags (three, two bigs and a smaller one) from the conveyor belt. He does put the gloves on then, before lifting his bags and heading toward one of the airport's exit. And then ... he vanishes into an alley. Again.

 

How the fuck-

Great. Just great.

 

Regardless of how the man pulled that one out, Gabriel just lost his best lead at finding him. Not that he has any other lead. He could interrogate people, but, one, it would attract attention, and two, it may have worked if he had asked the very next day, but who would remember a guy they'd probably only seen once, and almost three weeks ago.

 

He passes a hand down his face.

Looks like he won't get a chance to apologize.

 

...

Fuck.

 


End file.
